


Step Up to the Plate

by Marshmellow Bobcat (MellowBobcat)



Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Day 2, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, LV AU WEEK, baseball!logan, decent dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23294926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowBobcat/pseuds/Marshmellow%20Bobcat
Summary: TV commercial director Veronica Mars thinks that Baseball player and client spokesman Logan Echolls is an entitled jackass. Unfortunately, he's also hot.Logan would be more than happy to help Veronica learn to loosen up, if she would just stop talking.Can these two step up to the plate and make it work?LV AU Week 2020, Day 2: Decent Dick
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 53
Kudos: 54
Collections: LV AU WEEK 2020





	Step Up to the Plate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CubbieGirl1723](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CubbieGirl1723/gifts).



> For CubbieGirl1723. Surprise! My friend, AU week marks the beginning of our friendship journey and I'm so thrilled to be coming back full circle to host with you. I tried to make this about the sport of baseball, but… it didn't work out. So I present to you: Baseball!Logan. I also tried to finish it, but that didn't work out either, so I also present to you: a WIP!

Cover by Alina. Possibly my favorite cover!  
[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153394136@N06/49948803327/in/dateposted/)

......

"A baseball player for a spokesperson. That's great." Veronica Mars sat back in her cushy office chair, sipping at her coffee and hoping the utter flatness of her voice conveyed the intended sarcasm.

Entering the office fully, Cindy "Mac" Mackenzie perched a jean-clad hip on top of Veronica's desk. "I knew you'd be pleased."

Veronica glared up at her boss. Mac might have been savvy enough to build her own Fortune 500 commercial production company from the ground up, but clearly sarcasm was lost on her.

For her part, Mac seemed amused, but then her face sobered.

"Veronica, Golden Gate Capital Partners is one of our biggest clients and—"

"I know they are. I brought them in."

It was _her_ vision, _her_ hard work that had Macey Productions branching out from simply filming the vision of the ad agency like sheep. Under Veronica's watch Macey had started their own media production division- creating commercials from concept to execution.

Her ingenuity saw a new and steady revenue stream for the company, and her portfolio drew in more new clients than anyone else. And still Mac was hesitant to make her a partner.

"—and they want him for the Express Men brand," Mac continued. "Express wants him for the Express Men brand. So _we_ want him for the Express Men brand. Play nice—show me you can work with them on this and maybe we can talk about your partnership when the commercial is done."

Veronica frowned into her cup. While her portfolio sold the company, her directing and management style did not. Her tolerance for stupidity was low, her impatience with unskilled workers high, and her ability to suck up to people who did not work as hard as she did was non-existent.

"Veronica," Mac gently called her attention. "You need to be able to work with the clients, and that means working with the talent they pick and respecting their creative direction. Even when you don't agree."

Veronica averted her eyes. They'd had this conversation before. Last year some snotty little socialite who thought she could be a star lodged a complaint against Veronica with daddy. It wasn't the first time she'd clashed with the talent, but it was the first time that the talent's father owned the ad agency that recommended Macey Productions. It had taken Mac months to claw them off the blacklist. Veronica was lucky she hadn't been fired.

She'd been lucky that, in addition to being her boss, Mac was her friend. Mac had taken Veronica out for a drink and told her frankly to 'get your shit together or get out of this business.' The conversation left Veronica feeling surprisingly focused on proving herself.

She wanted this new division to work. She wanted to be a partner, _she deserved it damnit_ , but not at the expense of the core business. Not at the expense of Mac.

The GGCP opportunity was a gift. With entities spanning from retail, technology, even financial services; if GGCP liked this campaign, they could recommend her to all of their brands. Surely that exposure to various clients would convince Mac that Veronica had what it took to run the creative side of the business _and_ work with the clients.

"I know. I'll play nice, I promise." She could do it. She knew she could. "But I want to go on record: I hate directing jocks. They're so," Veronica made a vague gesture with her free hand, "you know."

"No. No, I don't."

"Stupid, Mac. Stupid." Veronica downed her coffee and tossed the cup into the small black bin under her desk. "They can barely get their lines out. I swear some of them can't even read the prompts."

"But they're oh so pretty." Mac sighed dramatically. 

"No one's that pretty." 

"I take it you haven't seen this one." Hopping off the desk, Mac hip checked Veronica's chair. "Budge over."

Pouting, Veronica rolled to the side, taping her blunt nails impatiently on the glass top as Mac took control of her computer. But inside, she felt relief. They'd clearly moved away from the 'I'm your boss, do what I say' part of the conversation.

"Here he is! " Her friend stepped back and Veronica scooted her chair back over to view Mac's search results.

"Logan Echolls," Veronica read out loud. "Third baseman for the Chicago Cubs. World Series champion, NL MVP—." She called over her shoulder, "NL?"

"National League."

"So, not local then?"

"Veronica."

"Right, sorry. NL Rookie of the Year…."

The list of accolades under his name continued on and was probably impressive, but being a three time All-Star champion did not mean Logan Echolls looked good in front of a camera. Or that he could enunciate.

She scrolled down to his picture and froze. _Those eyes._ They seemed to burn into her through the screen. Like he was looking right at her and knew all of her secrets.

Swiveling around to meet Mac's smug expression, Veronica asked, "Think we can get away with a dub over?"

* * *

From his poolside lounge chair, Logan Echolls spotted friend and agent Dick Casablancas through the sliding glass door and latched onto his presence.

"Hey!" He yelled. Dick slid the door open and poked his head out. "Is it time for us to get to Riverview Park?"

For a split second Dick frowned. The two usually preferred to spend the day drinking poolside in Dick's condo, then they'd hit the public park next to stadium to blow off steam and sober up. Then they'd rally and get ready to party. Rinse, repeat.

But today the half-naked blonde attached to Logan's lap like an appendage made that impossible.

"Uh. Yeah, gotta be there in… twenty?" Dick replied, recovering quickly as he correctly assessed the situation. Dick may be his sports agent, but he was also his friend; no one knew him better.

Logan nodded at Dick, who shot him a thumbs up, and moved back into the house.

Logan had tried to make the best of it, really he had. He had leaned his head back and willed himself to enjoy the feel of the blonde's curves against him, but to no avail. The guest swimsuit she'd borrowed left little to the imagination and _should_ excite him, but today it just made him tired.

The groupies were all the same. Easier than snapping his fingers, all he had to do was say his name. But try to get rid of them…. When he tried to see her out this morning she had stripped down, suggesting a swim.

His morning inebriation figured fuck it, why the hell not? But as the haze gave way to a pounding headache his interest waned. The chick ( _Heather? Haley? Hannah?)_ giggled incessantly and only seemed to comprehend about sixty percent of what he was saying. Not that he was particularly surprised. In his experience the blonde contingent earned the "dumb" moniker honestly. But he was usually at least polite. The last thing he needed was some scorned nobody bad mouthing him in the press.

He squeezed her side. "Sorry, Cubs business."

Whatever her name was giggled and handed him a Bloody Mary from the table beside them, so she at least she wasn't completely useless.

Holding back the celery stick, he downed the contents in one swallow and passed the empty glass to her.

She ignored it, leaning forward, obstructing his view with a curtain of hair. "Ooh, Cubs business. What what are we doing?"

He studied her earnest features, his cup still dangling from his fingertips. She was totally serious. Drained and done, he said _fuck it_ for the second time that morning and resorted to complete and unadulterated offense.

"Sorry…" _Holly? Helen? Heidi? Did it matter at this point?_ "...baby. But I can't afford any more time. Stop in the kitchen and Dick will pay you. Standard hundred bucks an hour?"

He ignored her dropped jaw.

"Oh and if you have a card or something, I can make sure the other guys on the team get it. Five stars." He winked.

He got a red cheek, a creative anatomy suggestion, and one less piece of stemware for his trouble, but at least now he was alone. Maybe he'd take a break from women for a while. Or blondes at least.

Dick strolled out of the house, picking his way around shattered glass, and handed him a new drink.

"So, do I have to move?" Dick sat on the chair next to Logan sipping his own glass.

"I don't think so. She didn't strike me as the set-your-shit-on-fire-ruin-your-life type." He snorted. "She'd probably need directions to make a bowl of cereal anyway. You're good."

"Are you? Good, that is."

"It's a charmed life." Logan raised his new glass in a toast and gulped down half his drink. Hair of the dog and all that. "When are they coming?" He changed the subject.

"Day after tomorrow." Dick didn't even bother asking who.

The unnecessarily cheerful answer grated. Somehow he'd gotten roped into working over the next three weeks instead of day drinking and sexy sleepovers. An endorsement deal for a clothing company he'd never worn once in his life. _Should be fun._

"Can't Báez do it?" _He was almost as pretty._

"Dude," Dick placed his drink down and stood, stripping down to his bathing suit. "You're getting old."

"I'm the same age as yo—"

"You need endorsements," Dick continued over him. "Gotta keep that moolah coming in." He twirled his tee shirt over his head like a girl gone wild and then tossed it at Logan.

"Of which," Logan picked the offending fabric off his chest with grimace and threw it to t`he floor, "you get a cut."

"Of which, I get a cut. God bless America." Dick's vicious grin belied his laid back surfer persona. Dick was a shark in puppy's clothing. It's why Logan had hired him. That and the fact that Dick was one of the few people Logan respected. Maybe the only person Logan trusted.

When they'd met in college, though they hadn't known each other, they'd recognized a kindred spirit. They had the same scars. At turns privileged and neglected. Spoiled and ignored. Their parents didn't give a shit about them, so they had made a new unit, vowing to never be like the parents they abhorred.

As friends, then roommates, and later agent and client, they had pulled each other up from the minor leagues of their chosen careers, past the darkness of their souls, and launched themselves into success.

For all intents and purposes, Dick was his brother. So when Dick urged him to do something, the answer was always yes.

"Fine, dear, no more nagging."

_Should be easy money, at least._

Logan closed his eyes on Dick's triumphant grin and pillowed his hands behind his head to brown in the Arizona sun.

* * *

While Mac unpacked in the master bedroom, Veronica sat at the kitchen island shuffling through her messenger bag. The town home they had rented for the month boasted a lot of space, but she preferred to be close to the food. Taking a bite of an Oreo with one hand, she searched through her bag with the other, skipping over the paperwork and shiny new baseball glossary until she landed on the creative brief.

Munching, she re-familiarize herself with the brand objectives, then flipped over to her shot list. Tomorrow she would get a look at the stadium where they'd do most of their shooting and then set up the studio space they'd rented as well.

This was all on her. Mac was here because, as owner, she attended any shoots with celebrity talent, but both women knew it for what it was. A test.

Which is why Veronica'd had a knot in her stomach since they landed.

Her research on Logan Echolls had yielded a profile of a spoiled, arrogant, ungrateful—albeit physically gifted—male. She didn't see how this was going to work. And she needed this to work. Once she achieved partner, all the late hours, dinners at her desk, lack of social life would be worth it.

"Hey, I'm going to take a walk." Veronica yelled as she dusted chocolate crumbs off her hands. Hopping down from the stool, she stripped off her thin green cardigan leaving a delicate pink camisole in its place. Even in February, Arizona was hotter than she'd realized it was going to be.

"Take pepper spray!" Mac's voice floated from the bedroom.

Veronica rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse off the hook by the door. _As if she'd forget pepper spray._

Exiting the house into the arid night, Veronica turned left down a random street on a whim.

It was dark out, well after dinner. The glowing windows called to her. It was a magic hour for her. Time for families to gather around the TV, giggling along with the laugh tracks and crying at preconceived twists of fate. She wanted to invoke similar feelings with this ad campaign. To marry artistry and emotion with the clients request for 'a lifestyle feel, focusing on the essence of the game'.

While the ultimate goal was to generate sales-which meant appealing to women—having them picture the men in their lives wearing those clothes, urging them to buy from the brand- Veronica also wanted to strike a nostalgic chord with the male audience. Harken back to their first baseball game with their dads, conjure the magic of a summer night game. Baseball's answer to Mean Joe Greene offering a kid a Coke.

She wanted to, _needed_ to, do this right. And she wasn't going to let some trust fund baby turned sports celebrity ruin it for her. All she had to do was maintain a professional distance.

Continuing down the next block, she paused at the sight of a giant park looming in front of her. 

Parks in her neck of the woods usually closed at sundown, but this one looked active.

Crossing over, she saw Riverview Park was open until 10:00 p.m. and entered through the gate.

The paved, winding path gave way to a beautiful lake, and she felt something unknot inside her. Used to beaches at every turn, she hadn't realized how much she needed the water to help center her. It's simple presence comforted, it's stillness calmed. As the anxiety eased she became more aware of the couples holding hands around her. She was one of the few people in sight that wasn't part of a pair or a quad, and it put a dull ache in her chest.

"Excuse me," Veronica muttered as she brushed past a couple too engrossed in each other to realize that they were blocking her side of the walkway. They barely stirred. Hugging her arms to herself she followed the road, her purse bumping on her hip as she moved.

It's not that she was against a relationship. She dated. But the work came first. Security came first. The lifestyle she'd grown up with—her PI father living paycheck-to-paycheck, barely scraping by—was solidly behind her, and she had no intention of ever living it again.

Guys never seemed to get that.

A field across the way caught her attention. Shaking off her melancholy, Veronica made her way across the path toward it, inexplicably drawn to the two figures silhouetted in floodlights, kicking around a black and white ball.

Both players were similarly built, their bodies obviously meticulously sculpted through numerous hours in the gym. One of them was blonde, and his shaggy hair flopped with every kick of the ball. For a fleeting moment Veronica thought he looked vaguely familiar, but the thought soon vanished as soon as Shaggy's partner paused to stretch his arms over his head.

His back was to her but his movements, from the way his long fingers ran through his hair to the way the muscles of his back bunched under his loose black tank top as he scratched his neck, were music, a symphony of motion. A siren's call, speeding up her heart rate, making her mouth go dry. He laughed at something his friend muttered and the low reverberation of it curled in her gut, adding to the pull.

She stared, she knew she did, but she'd never been distracted so thoroughly before. Eventually the broad blonde took notice of her, jerking his chin to where she stood. Not content with a simple head turn, the siren did a full body pirouette toward her, and when his face came into view she stood up as straight as her five feet would allow. _Logan Echolls of the Chicago Cubs._

Those assessing eyes burned into her and a slow smirk spread across his face. Her body tingled, her heart beat pulsed in her throat. _Uh-oh. This does not look good for our heroine._

He walked toward her, no, he _swaggered_ toward her, the blonde she now recognized as his agent, Dick Casablancas, jogging up behind him. Echolls picked up her limp hand and she felt the heat of each finger tip through her skin.

Then he spoke.

"Hey there, baby. Want to get out of here?"

The confidence, the _arrogance,_ and what she suspected was alcohol on his breath, was as effective as a bucket of ice water thrown over her head.

Tugging her hand out of his, she shot him a grim smile.

"Logan Echolls. I'm Veronica Mars, and for the next three weeks, I'm your boss."

She smugly watched Echolls' smile fall as Casablancas' laughter rang through the air.

* * *

"Run it again," Veronica barked from the directors chair.

Logan wondered, not for the first time, if she practiced that nails-on-a-chalkboard tone. He wished it made her less attractive.

Clearly she was still pissy about him strolling in three minutes after Set Time. And his first day on the job, too. _The horror._ The production company owner, introduced to him as "Mac", sitting next to her had said nothing. He couldn't get much of a read on her, so he focused his attention on his "boss."

"That was fine."

"Oh, you're a director now?"

Rather than get into his upbringing at the knee of every famous director in LA—courtesy of his movie star parents—Logan adjusted the lay of his white baseball tee, smoothed down the tailored silver blazer, and prepared to run the lines again.

They'd been in the studio for hours and the petite dictator refused to let the cameras roll until he "got it right", which was a waste of everyone's time. He did better work when the stakes were high, when the little red light was on.

"Veronica, at least film the take."

"I think you mean Miss Mars."

She raised a brow at him, and he stared back impassively until she squirmed, very slightly, in her seat. Finally she nodded to the camera man and the red light flared to life.

Relieved and infinitely more relaxed, Logan began delivering his lines.

 _This_ was one of the things he could do. Baseball, media, women. Those skills he was absolutely confident in. In fact, if she gave him a chance to prove that last one, he bet he could loosen her up a little. Make that hard line of her mouth soften under his, her hands running over his arms, cupping his neck as she pulled him closer, wrapping those legs around him as he picked her up pressed her against the wall, reaching down to—

A loud cough interrupted his thoughts. He glanced at the source and saw Dick standing by craft services fighting a laugh. Yeah, that asshole knew him too well.

Dick made a "continue" motion with his hand then grabbed a shrimp off the table, tossing into his mouth. That's Dick for you—supportive enough to show up, but not actually helpful.

Logan looked back to Veronica and was pleased to find she looked flustered. She felt it too. He knew she did. But the attraction they had was like a firecracker, burning brilliant and bright, fizzling to nothing. He'd had enough of that lately. Plus, she was kind of a jackass.

"Try to dial back the intensity," Veronica instructed. "We don't want to alienate the male customers."

Mac leaned over and whispered something in Veronica's ear. She flushed and smacked Mac's arm.

"Aye, aye captain." He saluted her, and she returned the gesture with an unfriendly look. _Yup, jackass._

At least they were filming now.

When they finally got the take, and a few more for safety, Veronica begrudgingly moved them on to close-ups.

A pretty girl from the makeup team took her cue and stepped up to him, stretching up on her toes to powder his jawline. Grinning down at her, he bent to assist her efforts and she tossed her wild, curly hair over her shoulder and twinkled back at him. They chatted, flirted harmlessly, until _Ms. Mars_ snapped, "He looks fine, Audrey, get off my set."

Audrey rolled her eyes and sent him a wink. With a glare for Veronica, she left the set.

Veronica merely yelled for cameras to roll, and set a grueling pace for the remainder of the day. By the time she called a wrap Logan was exhausted. _So much for easy money._

Mac whisper to Veronica, Veronica's eyes flicking back and forth between him and Mac. With a large sigh Veronica started toward him, picking her way over thick cable wires to reach him. Logan stiffened, on high alert. Overtime was not in the agreement. Dick must have sensed his discomfort, because he wandered over to stand at his back.

More at ease, Logan looked down at Veronica, waiting for her to speak. She stared back, her jaw clamped shut, her hands folded across her chest. The seconds stretched, and he settled into them, waiting for her to break.

A cough sounded-Logan would put his money on Mac-and Veronica finally spoke. Through her teeth, but he made out the words just fine. 

"Mr. Echolls, would you care to join us for dinner?" Another cough. "Courtesy of Macey productions."

_That's what she was gearing up for? Yeah, no thanks._

"Thank you for the invite, Veronica, but—"

"I think you mean, Miss—"

_That's it._

"Oh, fuck off. I'm not calling you Miss Mars."

"Excuse me?" All five-foot-nothing of her stepped right up to him, her toes brushing his.

His throat convulsed; he could see the pulse in her neck and resisted the urge to bite it.

"I said, fuck off," He repeated cheerfully.

Her fingers curled into a fist, and she actually cocked it back before Mac threw an arm over her shoulder.

_God, he wanted her._

The fact that he was certain she was about to punch him—no sissy little girly slaps for her—made it worse somehow.

"You know," her voice was low and dangerous, "just because daddy gave you everything you ever wanted in life doesn't mean you can talk to people that way."

The want twisted, turned dark. He moved in. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"And you don't even have the decency to be grateful," she continued. Shaking off Mac's arm, she matched his movement closer. "By all accounts, you cut your father out of your life as soon as the trust fund kicked in."

The hum of lust was still there, but now it pissed him off, added fuel. Simmering under his skin, the pull of desire heated his annoyance, leveling it up to rage. Before it could boil over, a perceptive Dick placed a hand on his shoulder and addressed Mac.

"Free dinner works for us. Mastro's in two hours?"

Mac nodded. "We'll make the reservation and meet you there." Then she tugged Veronica away before anyone could respond.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Dick rounded on Logan, gripping one of his lapels to get his attention.

"Hands off the merchandise. We wouldn't want you to lose any of that 'moolah'." Logan returned nastily, pushing him away as he strode off, calling over his shoulder. "You heard what she said."

Dick caught up, matching Logan's steps. "Yeah, the same thing every reporter and jealous boyfriend has been yelling in your face since you were twenty-five. What gives?"

"She pissed me off," Logan muttered as he walked outside to the waiting town car and slid into the back seat.

Belatedly he realized he was still in wardrobe. Whatever. They could take it out of his paycheck.

Settling in next to him, Dick closed the door and sent him a wry look. "I see that. But why?"

Logan jerked a shoulder and stared out the window as the car pulled out of the lot. He didn't _know_ why. He just knew that she sparked him. Something about her got under his skin, into his blood, would probably settle in his bones if he let his guard down.

"Why'd you say yes to dinner?"

"Because we have three more weeks to work with her and you have a contract."

He swung his gaze back to Dick. "Maybe we can—"

"We're not asking for a new director." Dick cut him off. "This is your first endorsement deal. Let's get a few more lined up before you start acting like a princess."

"Whatever, asshole." Logan grumbled.

* * *

She had messed up. Bad.

Veronica could see her partnership floating away, and she was pretty sure her friendship had taken a hit as well. Mac had practically thrown her into the rental car, then made the dinner reservation on the way back to the townhouse. After that, nothing. They'd endured the remainder of the ride in silence and then Mac had disappeared into her bedroom without a word. Presumably to get ready. Not that Mac had _said_ anything.

Veronica trudged after her, past the firmly shut door and into her own room. She would have prefered the lecture, she thought as she looked around the orderly room.

By habit, she had unpacked immediately. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Neat, precise. Rigid. Annoyed, she went to the closest and pulled down a perfectly folded towel she'd brought from home.

What she needed was to regroup. Well, she probably _needed_ a miracle. Divine intervention to grant her patience against another entitled brat who never had to work for anything in their life. Who never spent their formative years watching their own parents walk out the door, unable to resist the call of booze or a paycheck. The pampered privileged who couldn't even be bothered to arrive on time, and told _her_ how to do _her_ job.

Yeah, a miracle would be ideal, but a new game plan would do for now.

Shower. Change. Rally.

Twisting the knob to it's hottest setting, she waited a few seconds then stepped under the spray. It was cold. Of course it was. All she wanted to do was burn the memory of this afternoon out of her system, but apparently she couldn't have that either.

It didn't matter. She could do this.

Grabbing the Dial soap from the dish, she lathered. The brand was too harsh for her skin, but maybe it would toughen it up.

When the shower was done, when she had smoothed a comb through the hair she had shampooed a little too vigorously, she stepped back in front of her closet.

The options were uninspiring. A sea of black, gray, and beige with touches of navy to shake it up. She skimmed her fingers down the row of clothing, her fingers caught on a tag and she froze on it. The Dress.

The dress she was going to wear when Mac announced her partnership and she could finally put the work aside, let her hair down. The dress she would wear when she took her dad out to dinner and declared, "champagne on me." The dress she brought with her on every trip, a visual symbol of her inevitable future.

You know what they say, she thought philosophically. Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.

Taking a deep breath she pulled it off the hanger, and slipped on a sleek column of red.

Moving to the full length mirror behind the door, she analyzed the results. As it had in the fitting room, the dress hugged her curves in a way that made her feel taller. The pretty lace peeking out from the V-neck gave her the appearance of breasts, which she appreciated. And, she turned, craning her neck to see, two pieces of intricate lace attached high at the back, leaving her lower back bare.

Satisfied, she very carefully slid into a pair of black heels, and stepped out of the room to search for Mac.

She found her in the kitchen, transferring items from her large bag into an evening clutch. At the sound of Veronica's heels on the tile, Mac looked up from her task and scrutinized her from head to foot while Veronica's stomach clenched.

Finally, Mac met her eyes and nodded. "Good."

Veronica let out a breath. She could do this. She'd take it one day at a time. Tonight, all she had to do was keep her cool for one evening. How hard could it be?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank thank you to my wonderful team of friends. My cheerleader Chikabiddy, the most fantastic beta Bondopolous, and my always critical final eye AmyPC.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Covers (Marshmellow Bobcat stories)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25006234) by [VeronicaMarsFanArt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaMarsFanArt/pseuds/VeronicaMarsFanArt)




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